Eternally Fleeting Moments
by amkay
Summary: Could they really be together? Or was this a fantasy never meant to become reality? SasoDei one-shots. AU, AR.
1. Unnoticed

**Unnoticed**

Even if I follow him to the ends of the earth, I would never know the entire truth about him and his past. He is an unsolved mystery. He represents all that is unknown in the world. He isn't meant to be understood by any soul, yet I can't help but crave discovering the untold regions hidden in the depths of his shielded eyes.

For me, he is the ultimate puzzle. He's my forbidden fruit. A thing I desire even though I know this obsession isn't good for my health. I can't have him in the way I wish. I do understand that—I've always been one of those people that can pick up the vaguest of details in mere moments—but my problem is that I can't fight this strange attraction. I'm helpless to his pull (I'm not even sure if I _want_ to fight this so I suffer as my mind and heart pull my body apart in their war between what I should and shouldn't do) and this knowledge both excites and terrifies me.

How can he have so much sway over my existence when he probably doesn't even know I live?

It would be so much easier if one or neither of us had been born into this life. Perhaps then I wouldn't be feeling this indescribable pain. (Does he even know how much he's hurting me? Is he aware that I die inside every time he looks at me, only for his gaze to sweep completely over me as if I'm not even there? He's truly innocent, yet something inside me whispers that he is the cruelest person I've ever known and a part of me can't help but agree even if it makes the hurt worse. It's an endless cycle of torment and I sometimes find myself wishing for that last escape known as death. The last journey everyone will eventually take, even those that are supposedly everlasting—I've always believed that to be a lie. And in the end I know I'll be proven right because everything dies, even time.) But I'm caught like the little frightened fly in the spider's web and it's only worse because _he_ is the spider.

His words are like the spider's poison burning in my veins. He is the mastermind behind this little show (and this isn't surprising at all because he has always been a talented puppet master, and now I'm one of his puppets), the killer that has marked me for death; he is my judge, jury, and executioner in this trial. It doesn't matter that I'm innocent or that _he is guilty even though he doesn't know it_—everything is out of my hands because it was never in my hands in the first place and I only understand that now. Life has been unkind to me all this time, so why should it give me a break now when I'm at its mercy? The only comfort I have is that someday I know this pain will come to an end and I can finally sleep in Death's sweet and peaceful embrace.

_Will he be there with me?_

I'm doomed. Why can't I just forget about him? It's not like he remembers me . . . I'm nothing but a featureless face in a crowd to him. Does he really deserve my attention, as pitifully unnoticed as it may be? I'm only hurting myself more whenever I think of him.

_What if someone else feels the same way for me as I feel for him?_

. . .

I hadn't thought of that before. Some genius I am . . . too fixated on _him_ to realize until now that maybe someone else sees me the like that. He really _has_ poisoned me, hasn't he?

Like that deceitful spider. Manipulator and murderer. He's dangerous and deadly. _A scorpion_.

If I continue to follow him like a helplessly lost little puppy, I'm going to die alone. For why should one such as him even deign to give me his attention? _I am nothing to him_.

I can give him up, right? It's really the only way I'll end this torment. At least without taking the pathetic way out and killing myself like some despicable martyr in one of those tragic hero stories I used to be hear about when I was a kid. That's way too melodramatic for me.

_Can I really let him go?_

It's been several days now since I've reached the decision to give him up. I focus almost entirely on the small things in my life (wake up, take a shower and make sure I've cleansed every last inch of my body, clean all of my teeth to blinding perfection, tidy up my room and organize that large collection of clay I use for experiments, etc.) in an attempt to ignore him. So far this new tactic works and I'm not as distracted by his presence, though that's because I've been avoiding him.

Whenever he's in a room I'm heading to I've swiftly turned around and gone the other way, planning to come back later when he wouldn't be there. Surprisingly, this strategy works pretty well and despite the way my heart is crying out from the distance, I congratulate myself on distancing myself from my would-be-murderer.

Perhaps I have a chance after all.

And then when I meet him for yet another mission, I just pretend that everything is completely normal before following him out the door and forcing myself to memorize the path instead of the way he leads us both to our destination.

He's too busy grumbling over Leader's orders and how this mission interrupted him during a construction of a new puppet to notice that I'm not really responding except with indiscernible grunts similar to that bastard Itachi's usual answer to daily conversation.

_Hn_.

It hurts that he doesn't notice, but I refuse to show it. Can't have him seeing right through me with those calculating eyes of his, right?

_This would be so much easier if I was flying_.

My thoughts wander to the heavens above, and I absently notice that Leader has momentarily cut off his rain spell so that neither of us would get drenched on our way out of Amegakure. (I would've thought Leader was being considerate, but that wasn't really like the man. He wasn't that kind to us subordinates, which is probably how he's managed to lead us for so long. I know Hidan would've walked all over him if he was a weakling.) Memories of previous flights in the sky drift across my mind and I smile slightly.

Humans were never meant to fly. Evolution saw to that when it gave us heavy bones, soft and solid flesh, and denied us the right to sprout wings to take flight. But, to my immense satisfaction, I defied Mother Nature and created my own wings with the help of my art. I created my art and in that very first moment of its destruction something inside of me had screamed with sadistic pleasure at the burst of color and sound preceding the explosion.

But before I had destroyed my creation, I had flown amongst the clouds and experienced something like true freedom. With nothing but the frigid wind in my face and the land of mortals below the clay wings of my eagle, I felt that there was absolutely nothing that could take away my newfound freedom. It was something I dreamed about for so long because it represented escape from the hell my life had been back then. It was a moment of being limitless and uncontrolled—nobody could take away my wings or my freedom and I could watch below as everyone watched me jealously because I could go where they could not—and that was one of the best pleasures in my life.

It all had to come to an end at some point. Unfairness is a harsh part of life, especially for us shinobi. We rise in happiness, we soar far above the misery of others, unreachable, and then we arrive at the climax. It's only downhill from there . . .

I sigh and shake the thoughts from my head, a spike of contempt curling my lips into a disdainful smirk. Looking back down to earth, I see him still walking ahead. It's almost funny how he leads me like a pig to the slaughterhouse. It's annoying, too, that he doesn't even realize it but that's why I'm slowly distancing myself from him. I won't let myself be blindly pulled forward like some helpless little child.

_Brat._

That's what he calls me. The only sign of acknowledgment from him is such a condescending moniker better suited for someone half my age. Delivered in that cold and utterly emotionless voice of his (or perhaps in annoyance on those very, _very_ rare occasions that I somehow manage to completely piss him off), it's a wonder how I ever became enraptured by that oh-so-intoxicating presence of his. But I can be childish. I'm easily captured by the slightest gestures made by him yet fickle in other things like how I'm still not entirely sure what this mission is about.

As I follow him to wherever this new mission will take us, I idly wonder if he even realizes that I've slowed a bit. Not enough to be considered stalling (even _I_ am not so foolish as to unnecessarily irritate him with the apparent foul mood he's in), but just enough that he would have to turn his head slightly if he wanted to catch a glimpse of me.

_I guess some small part of me still wants him to notice. To turn his head and snap at me for falling behind. Maybe he's right . . . maybe I am a brat._

And he does look back, brows arching in the slightest of frowns as he glares at me in annoyance. "Hurry up, brat. We have a time limit to reach our destination and I don't like to be kept waiting," he snaps before turning back around and picking up the pace.

My mouth curves upwards but the smile is dark and not at all happy (it doesn't matter that I've let my mask down in this moment; it's not like he'll notice with his back turned).

"Yes, Sasori no Danna," I say and obediently speed up to match his stride.

He may have noticed me in this moment, but it's not the way I want. It's not like someone like him even cares whether or not I follow him to the ends of the earth. People like him may pretend to care, but it's all a lie. An act put on like the skillful and talented puppet master he is.

Yet for some reason, I can only continue following him down this road, perhaps where the only destination is death. I can only hope I'm that fortunate.

* * *

AN: Changed all of this from 2nd person to first since this site doesn't allow any stories in the former. Whoops. Anyway, hopefully this version is liked more than the previous. Thanks for reading!

~amkay


	2. Freedom

**Freedom**

I don't care that he's gone.

It doesn't matter that he's not coming back.

I don't begrudge him for dying because I know he went out like he always wanted.

_True art . . . is a BANG!_

I don't really hate him for going out with one of the most beautiful and fleeting explosions I've ever witnessed in my entire life. No, I'm not angry that he's left me all alone in this world and that there's nothing I can do to bring him back. Not even a body remains for me to turn into a puppet for my still growing collection. (Then again, part of me wouldn't like it if he was a puppet. It would seem so . . . fake and nowhere near as lively as the real man. Just a cheap imitation; a knock-off that pales in comparison to the original.)

His body didn't stand a chance against the destruction of his explosive clay, much less when his own body was the bomb. I can still remember that one important conversation we shared when we somehow ended up on the topic of how we would want to die (more specifically, how _he_ wanted to die because I knew that I was practically immortal and would never succumb to Shinigami's cold embrace. I was only humoring him and he knew it but said it anyway).

_"When I die, Sasori no Danna, it's going to be amazing!" he said with a large grin that was slightly crazed. His only visible blue eye glinted with some emotion I didn't want to identify, and so I ignored it and scoffed instead._

_"Why on earth would you want to die, brat?" I asked disdainfully. "Have you finally lost it and turned suicidal?" Deep down, I hoped that wasn't the case because if the brat died then it would be too much of a hassle to get yet another partner and train them to get in sync with my unique battle style._

_No. I wasn't at all worried for his well-being because I genuinely cared for him. (I wouldn't miss him if he were dead.)_

_He gave me a look that was halfway between a pout and a glare. No, I didn't possibly find it cute nor had to fight back the almost alien urge to smile. I just thought the brat could be sort of amusing at times, especially when he was living up to my nickname for him._

_"Danna!" he whined childishly and I had to look away and focus back on fixing up Hiruko's damaged tail, lest I do something that I would probably regret. (Like smile at the brat and prove him right that I still had some remnants left over from my life as a human. I didn't want to give him yet more ammunition to tease me with.) "I may act crazy and insane but I'm not suicidal. I'm just going to do what any artist aspires and become my art, un! I'm gonna go out with a bang! Because that's what true art is!"_

_And ignoring the fact that something in my heart, the last remaining piece of my body that was still mortal, clenched painfully when the brat announced his plan to kill himself in a kamikaze attack, I let myself ignore that in favor of getting into yet another argument of what is the definition of true art. (That old argument was something of a comfort to me, and I knew it was the same for him. It was one of the few constants in our lives that we could always rely on to never change, no matter how many lives we took or how many times one of my puppets was broken or how often the brat was injured or not on our missions. He would never back down from his misled opinion that art was fleeting and I would never compromise that art was anything other than eternal. We knew each other's lines and would never improvise on our scripts because nothing needed to be changed. It was perfect just the way it was.)_

Now as I sit alone on his bed, his clay sculptures all back to simple putty because the brat never let them stay in one piece so they would always remain fleeting like his art, I wish that he hadn't been such a fool. I wish that he hadn't been an idiot and decide to take on Orochimaru of all people, the traitor and my ex-partner. It didn't really matter that the damned brat had succeeded in killing the snake. (Indeed, Deidara had practically wiped out all of Otogakure with the range and power of his last and strongest attack. Leader hadn't been sure whether he was pleased with the brat's success or pissed off that he'd lost such a valuable pawn.) It doesn't even matter that the brat hasn't gotten his long-desired revenge on Itachi since the Uchiha's little brother hadn't been in Oto at the time of the annihilation.

Nothing matters to me anymore because Deidara is dead. He isn't coming back and I can no longer deny the fact that his death hurts more than anything I've ever felt, even more than when I discovered the truth of my parents' death several years after the fact.

_I admit that I care for Deidara but he's already gone._

I'm an old fool. Why else would I be sitting on Deidara's empty bed, wanting to cry even though my puppet body can no longer do such mortal actions, and cursing everything from life to death to Deidara and mostly myself?

The truth is that despite how I tried fighting it, I had come to care for the blond bomber that had been my partner and perhaps even only true friend. (An even deeper truth that I still didn't want to admit to myself is that a part of me had wanted something much more meaningful with the brat, but that part is in the most excruciating pain now because that yearning was just that—an unfulfilled longing that would never be soothed.)

Deidara is gone and I'm left alone once again. Like how I'd been left waiting forever for my parents to return from that mission that resulted in their deaths and the beginning of the end of who I once was.

_What are you going to do now, Danna, hmm?_

I freeze and don't dare to look in the direction I hear that painfully familiar voice. The fear that if I look and discover that it had only been my imagination, that the owner of that voice wasn't really there and was merely a product of my developing insanity, was unbearable. I don't want to look because then the truth, whatever it may be, will become real.

Unbidden, my lips move on their own and my voice is forced out of my throat that would have been raw from pain had I still been human. "I don't know, brat," my voice says quietly. "I don't know what I'll do now that you're . . ." I trail off and close my dry eyes, unable to finish.

Because if I do, then I'll have to face the truth. And I'm not ready for that yet.

The air in the room is cold, freezing almost, but I can't tell because my body is no longer sensitive to the caress of the wind on my wooden skin. It's an almost bleak existence that I lead, but I never really noticed it because I was too distracted with the diversion of my partner. He held my attention like a vice, refusing to let go no matter how much I snapped at him to leave me alone.

The sound of something fluttering within the room cuts me off from that painful track of thought and I glance around for the source of the distraction. It takes me a moment to process what I'm seeing, but when I do I can't help but suck in air from shock.

There on the neatly made covers of my bed sits a familiar white substance molded into a shape I've seen for years. The clay bird is unmoving but its blank ivory eyes stare at me like a cat.

"I must be hallucinating," I say aloud, disbelief clear in my quiet voice. Because there is no way that the brat didn't destroy that bird like he did with the rest of his creations. As he always claimed, his art was meant to be fleeting. Existing for but a few precious moments where only a few people would see the beautiful creations before they exploded in an array of lights and sounds that were never the same. The beauty of the moment would forever embed the explosions in the witnesses' minds, a moment of magnificence forever left in mere remembrance.

And completely unexpected, the bird tilts its head as if it understands me._ It's alive_, I think, shocked, and then the thought registers and I hurriedly glance around for the presence my human heart longs for.

. . . The disappointment I feel when nobody is there in the room with me is almost enough to make me loathe how I'm acting. Like a helpless child searching for his parents. It's like before and I hate the parallelism.

A soft flutter of clay wings is all the warning I have before the ivory bird lands beside me on the brat's bed. It looks up at me with those dull, lifeless eyes and tilts its head once more. The bird unfurls its intricately detailed wings and flaps them once, twice, and then opens its slightly curved beak in a silent chirp.

"What could you possibly want with me?" I snap at it. My hand swats at it half-heartedly but of course the bird dodges it. A sigh of annoyance slips out of me almost against my will. It seems that even in death that damn brat still annoys me to no end. "Go away; I'm not your master."

_Danna!_

My teeth clench at the voice echoing in my head. "Dammit, brat! Leave me alone!" I snarl.

The bird chirps silently once more and then flies over to the closed window of my room. It pecks at the glass and glances back over to me with an obvious plea in its body language.

_Please, Sasori no Danna? Just one more flight?_ The brat's voice asks from my memory. It's utterly ridiculous; no. It's completely insane. I'm hallucinating all of this right now—that clay bird isn't here, the brat's voice in my head is nothing but proof that the little sanity I had left is now gone, and I can't possibly be considering giving into this fucked up fantasy.

Against whatever good judgment I might have left, I find myself getting up from the cold bed and walking over to where the bird is perched on the windowsill. It silently chirps at me in what I take as gratitude and then it all but rockets out of the room when I throw open the window. My eyes track the small white bird's progress through the air, finally losing it as it does a reverse loop mid-air and disappears between the clouds that never seem to dissipate.

_What do you hope to see standing there waiting? Do you really think the bird is coming back when it has finally found the freedom it longs for? Birds are never meant to be caged. They were given wings so they could fly above the clouds where humans could never reach them. They long for the freedom of the world above this one, and that bird is no different despite being made of earth, water, and chakra residue. It lives for its freedom and you gave it the chance to finally escape its cage._

Realization strikes me and my body freezes with it. "That bird . . ." I whisper faintly, collapsing to my knees as the energy to stand leaves me.

_So you finally understand, Sasori no Danna?_

"It was him. It was Deidara . . . my brat."

_And far above the clouds where no mortal can ever hope to reach, a white bird soars freely with the wind underneath the sun, its ivory eyes slowly turning to the blue that matches the heavens._

At last, he is finally free. His master set him free!

* * *

AN: K'doke, so that's the last of the SasoDei 1shots I had finished. So now it's up to you readers to decide what happens next. Should I continue one of these or write something entirely new? PM any requests and I'll see what I can do. Oh, but I won't write any lemons. I'm not ready for that sort of thing yet . . .

Well, thanks for reading. I really appreciate it!

~amkay


	3. Never Forever

Summary: As Deidara dies, he reflects on life, art, and Sasori. Hints at SasoDei.

Rated – T Friendship/Tragedy Deidara & Sasori 10/14/14

Disclaimer: Be _very_ glad I don't own Naruto. Or else this may have actually happened.

AN: Because a certain someone went to sleep and I wanted revenge. Haha.

I wonder what you thought in your last moments. Probably something along the lines of "_This can't be happening . . . I was supposed to last forever."_

At least that's what most would think were your last thoughts, but I had known better. I'll even go so far as to say I know _you_ better than you know yourself. Because you know what, Sasori no Danna? I've always been better at understanding emotions than you. You only made it easier when you turned yourself into a puppet.

You finally realized how tired you were with life. It's okay, I can't say I blame you. I'm tired of life, too. But mostly, I understand that you couldn't take the loneliness in your life anymore. Even with me and the others there, we weren't enough for you. We never were, because all you really wanted was your parents back.

Heh. It's funny how we never realize how precious something is until it's lost, right? I wish I could have told you . . . But it was too late. I was too late and by the time I returned . . . Well, you always did say that I shouldn't keep you waiting because someday you wouldn't be there any longer. Even after you're gone, you're still right.

Maybe you finally understand why my art is fleeting now, yeah? I learned that lesson a long time ago and I made myself remember every second, every precious moment I shared with them by never forgetting. I made them my art just like you made yours art.

Ah, listen to me ramble. I've never been this unfocused in my life, but I suppose dying has a way of changing people. I wish you were here to see this, Danna. My ultimate art and how the very land will bear the evidence of my existence for many years. It will certainly last longer than that puppet shell you left behind, though perhaps your name will live on. That's what most artists strive for. It's what most people wish, really, but I've never been one to follow the crowd.

Why should I last when so many others have already fallen to the obscurity of time? I'm just another S-rank criminal running amok in the world. I may have become famous (or rather infamous) by being in the Akatsuki, and that alone ensures my name will live on for a time. But someday I'll just be another minor name in history books. Maybe I won't even be in one. I'll just be another _eliminated Akatsuki_ member.

Did you honestly think we were meant to last forever?

People forget as time moves on. Memories are forgotten, wounds heal, scars fade, and the world continues on as it always has. You died and even though I spent so much time with you, I find myself forgetting the sound of your voice. I can't remember your scent unless I force myself to go into your room and inhale the faint smell of wood and poison which is covered with dust and decay. I can barely remember the discussions we would have while on missions—those rare but precious talks we had about who we were, what we had done before Akatsuki, and how we would live after we completed the organization's goals . . . I can't remember any of it now.

You know, I used to despise my art. I used to be like you in that I thought art was eternal. You must be smirking at me now, yeah? Well, don't let this confession go to your head, Sasori no Danna. I'm not agreeing with you when you're dead. I once believed art was eternal but that was before I realized it was just another lie I was feeding myself in an attempt to remain happy.

Nothing lasts forever. Just as our loved ones succumbed, so, too, has our art.

You may have told me time and time again that true art was eternal, but I always knew you were just lying to yourself. You convinced yourself that art was eternal because you wanted _something_ that you could hold onto while everything else around you withered away. You wanted something to believe in, to keep yourself sane when everyone else eventually faded from your memory as if they were merely dreams.

I remember you once said you'd turn me into one of your puppets before I ended up killing myself. A waste of life, you said. Why else would you say something like that other than to tell me in your own way that you didn't want to lose me? Sasori, you fool . . .

Life isn't meant to last. That's why we die. Eternity isn't real because nobody can live forever. Not even your old partner, with all his research for immortality, was able to find the answer. It's because there is no question to be answered.

You asked why my art is fleeting. I always told you that it was because that single moment where it becomes beautiful and is admired by those lucky enough to witness it was the reason. That's only part of the reason why. My art is fleeting because all art is brief in the grand scheme of things.

You didn't last long enough to see my ultimate art and, while that certainly pisses me off, I'm not going to waste what little time I have left cursing you out for being a fool. I'm not going to yell at you for giving up when you could have easily escaped that final embrace with your parents when I once longed for the same thing . . .

No, I'm going to make sure the world knows that I was here, that this was the time when Deidara succeeded in defeating an Uchiha, that in this one precious, beautiful moment, I finally became truly free and became art.

All art is fleeting, and I'm the same way. Living forever never appealed to me, anyway. Not when the one I wanted to share it with was long gone.

_"__This will be my ultimate piece of art. I'll explode. I shall die and become art itself! This will be like no explosion before it, and it will leave a scar upon the Earth unlike anything else. Then, my art will receive the admiration it's always deserved! Tremble! Be afraid! Recoil in despair! Cower in awe! And cry your heart out, because my art . . . is an EXPLOSION!"_


End file.
